


how to find the love of your life

by indecisively_yours



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisively_yours/pseuds/indecisively_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes that one moment—a glance up from where he’s discarded his jacket to lock eyes with the blonde across the room—for him to know his life will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to find the love of your life

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by an all too precious post that can be found over on my tumblr blog - username: themmaswan

Not many people can pinpoint the exact moment in time when their lives change. 

For some, it happens over the course of months, weeks, or even days. Gradual things here and there that contribute to a bigger moment, like overloading a scale until the balance finally tips one way or another. 

For Killian Jones? It happens in an instant. All it takes is that one moment—a glance up from where he’s discarded his jacket to lock eyes with the blonde across the room—for him to know his life will never be the same again.

/

**step one. meet her.**

“Nice of you to finally show your face, here, Jones!” comes a voice from the living room where someone’s set up a makeshift bar with all of the drinks. 

Jefferson, he thinks it is, but he can’t quite make out the face from where he’s discarding his jacket and he would discard his boots if it weren’t for the fact that it’s gross outside and no one else has bothered to do the same. 

“Couldn’t show up empty handed, like some people I know,” he quips back, holding up the bottle of not-so-cheap rum he purchased and quickly shoved in a stocking when he spotted an officer lingering about down the road. 

Victor walks by him with a muttered, “I’ll take that,” before he’s grabbing the bottle from Killian’s hand and walking over to the rest of the drinks. 

Spotting David off to one side of the room, huddled close to a head of blonde hair and Mary Margaret, he makes his way over to them and opts to wait for Robin over there. 

“Hey!” Mary Margaret greets, smile and happiness as infectious as ever. “It’s so good to see you!” She hugs him them, without warning, and doesn’t spill one drop of her eggnog in the process. “We didn’t think you’d come back to town for break.”

He offers a shrug just as the owner of the blonde hair turns around and God he momentarily mentally sputtered when she glanced over at him during his arrival, but it’s something else entirely to get lost in those green eyes up close. 

“This is Emma.” Mary Margaret’s the one to introduce her and it takes him a moment (okay, more than one moment) for him to collect his bearings and extend his hand out to her. “David’s sister. She came to town with us for the holidays.”

His introduction falls on his lips as she interjects with a, “Killian, right?” He nods in response, feeling a jolt run through his being as she wraps her hand around his and shakes it firmly. “My brother won’t shut up about you.”

“Not true,” David mutters behind his own glass of winter in a cup. 

Killian just smiles, hides his disappointment at the sudden loss of her warmth behind that smile, and says, “It’s quite all right. I tend to have that affect on people.”

“Of course you do!” comes Robin’s voice from behind him, followed by a firm hand to his shoulder in greeting. Emma smiles at the way Killian jumps at the sudden contact. “Don’t let David make you think otherwise.”

He’s never believed in love at first sight but he swears he falls in love with her smile in that instant.

/ 

**step two. connect.**

He’s known his best friend (well, one of them, don’t let Robin hear) has a sister since freshman year, when the two of them had been paired together during their orientation and had been forced to share something personal about themselves. 

Did he know said sister resembled something akin to a fallen angel? Dear Lord, he did not—and some warning would have been nice. 

“So you live here too?” 

He jumps again at the sound of her voice, cigarette dropping from his lips and onto the snow. It’s not even all of the nice, freshly fallen snow, either, but the snow that’s been on the ground for days and starting to turn into that slosh because the weather’s getting just a degree or two warmer and most are convinced it’s a sign of spring—in December. 

(Yeah, welcome to winters in New England. Go figure.)

“In this house?” he asks, furrowing his brows at the question. 

Emma laughs and shakes her head, and in that moment he swears he falls in love with her laugh, too. 

“In this town,” she elaborates. “It seems like David and I are the only outsiders at this bash.”

“Oh.” He nods, eyes flickering between the lost cigarette and her. “Yeah. We all don’t go to the same uni, as I’m sure you’ve picked up, but we all happen to reside here.”

“Right.” She nods, crossing her arms over her chest as a particularly strong gust rolls through. Her eyes flicker down to the lost cigarette then at him. “I’m…sorry about your loss.”

Killian laughs, shaking his head before his fingers come to scratch behind his ear. “It’s nothing, love. Just another nasty habit the universe wants me to quit, I suppose.”

She quirks up a brow, jaw firm as she tries to hold back the shiver. “Another?”

“Aye,” he says, then falls quiet.

Too quiet, it seems.

“A story for another time, then.”

His eyes scan her, honing in on the way she stands on that porch just feet away from him with nothing to protect her from the cold except for that sweater she’s deemed worthy enough tonight. 

(He wants to see how that sweater would look slipping off her body, wants to know what she hides underneath it, and God, he should be considered the world’s worst best friend for thinking such things about said best friend’s sister.)

“Head back inside, lass. You’ll catch your death out here.”

“And you?” she retorts, nodding over at him and the way he’s shoved his hands inside his pockets. 

“I’m not the one shivering.”

“Neither am I.”

He makes it a point to walk over to the door just to open it for her, but when he reaches the handle and attempts to turn the doorknob, it doesn’t budge. He tries again to no avail. When he reaches for his phone, he finds his pockets empty—then quickly remembers he had handed his phone to Robin when he arrived to prevent himself from doing something stupid. 

(Like calling his ex kind of stupid, even though Killian had limited his drinks tonight in anticipation of that.)

There goes that laugh again—the one he’s addicted to already, worse than any kind of drink or drag he’s had before—just as he hears a _plop_  near the steps. He fears the worst as he turns around—that she had slipped on some black ice and cracked her head open and Dave would never forgive him for letting his sister get hurt—but sighs as he spots Emma making herself comfortable on the steps. 

“The music’s loud in there and they’re all having a good time,” Emma says, just before her hand reaches out and pats the space next to her. “Join me. Someone’s bound to wander outside sooner or later.”

He’s about to protest—he almost does, almost turns around and bangs on the door until someone hears them—but instead finds himself sitting down on the steps next to her. 

Not before he slips off his jacket and throws it over her shoulders, that is. He can’t let her freeze to death, after all.

/

**step three. play the game.**

In the week he’s back home and she’s in town visiting with David, they become friends on every social media site they have. They even exchange Skype information, even though they both have iPhones and Skype seems pretty obsolete when you have FaceTime. 

But in order to use FaceTime, you need to have their number, and by the third date of David and Mary Margaret’s they’ve tagged along onto, he still hasn’t gotten her number. 

That is, until David insists on some quality time with all the guys—which translates into Robin, David, Killian and Liam going out, it seems. 

Emma insists there’s no point in having only Mary Margaret’s number when Killian’s the one out with them, so she takes his phone, programs her number into it, and texts herself, just as she tells Killian to call her if anything should arise in the midst of quick goodbyes because they’ve got a spa appointment scheduled themselves.

“What just happened?” Killian asks, staring at his phone in disbelief. 

Liam just shakes his head and laughs. “That, dear brother, is what I believe they call having game. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

/

**step four. overshare.**

They FaceTime the first week they’re back at school. 

She’s laughing so hard at his recounting of the first time they had a nude model in class. It should be impossible to fall for someone this hard, someone you’ve only known for weeks at best, yet here he is.

He catalogues everything during their conversation; from the way she flips her hair over her shoulder to the way she cranes her neck to answer whatever question Elsa, her roommate, has asked of her in regards to dinner. 

She shows him her textbooks for the semester, tome like things that have him sharing his condolences for the free time and sanity she’ll lose throughout the course of the semester. 

He shows her his sketchbook, particularly the one he had been working on during his winter break. He flips through the pages, at her insistence of course, stopping only when she tells him. His ears turn red at the picture, a re-creation of an old family photo of his, before he shuts the picture. 

She asks. 

He tells. 

He tells her about the disease that took his mother away when he was young. He tells her about the mess of a father that had abandoned him and Liam when he was still young. He tells her about the way his brother had to step up and take care of him, of the both of them, about how much he had sacrificed to provide for him in the long run. 

(She thanks him, even after he’s apologized for spilling so much to her during what should have been a lighthearted conversation.)

He falls in love with her warmth not long after that and the way her eyes show no sign of pity at all.

/

**step five. sleep with her.**

He makes himself promise one night—after she falls asleep on her textbook during their FaceTime conversation, drool and all—that he won’t get attached. She’ll be a friend, nothing more, and if not for his sake than Dave’s sake. 

That all goes down the tube when she visits before the semester’s up. 

She’s all he can think about day in and day out and when she lightly knocks on his door the night before she’s slated to leave he’s fairly certain he’s dreaming. The way she crawls into his bed and tucks herself into his side should be a strong indicator that he’s dreaming. 

He’d pinch himself to see if he were dreaming, but her frozen feet against his legs are getting the job done. 

As he wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to her forehead—she sighs in response, a beautiful sigh that has him adding that to the list of things he loves about her—he realizes he’s a goner. 

He’s an idiot to think he could ever stay away from Emma Swan, anyway.

/ 

**step six. write it down.**

The words rest on the tip of his tongue as she attends their graduation the day before hers. They linger there all day throughout their ceremony and all the way into their makeshift celebration.

So he writes it down. 

He hasn’t felt the pull of music since his mother passed all those years ago but there’s something about Emma that has him writing it all down. From the way the sun hits her hair or the way she burrows her head into the crook of his neck the moment a ray of sun peeks through the curtains, it all goes down in the book. 

It doesn’t take long before a whole notebook’s filled and while it isn’t much and it isn’t like the real thing, he feels like at least part of a weight’s been lifted off his chest. 

/

**step seven. follow her lead.**

He moves back home that summer with just a few more people in tow than what had departed off to college. With Emma graduated, too, it’s only plausible that she find some place to live. 

Said place happens to be the new loft Mary Margaret and David have picked out for themselves. 

Said place happens to be in the same town Killian now resides, back home with his brother. 

They bump into each other in town more than they manage to avoid one another and while he’s not normally one to let things get under his skin, this one thing seems to beat out all other things. 

After all, they’re living in the same town. He’s best friends with her brother. He’s rejected at least three dinner invitations by now because he’s unsure of where they stand and just because he’s said _to Hell with what Dave thinks_  doesn’t mean he’s not taking her lead in all of this. 

He just really hopes that lead will eventually take them down a path where they’re together—and not just the kind of together where they’re sitting in the same room because they know everyone in that room but the kind of together where they’re together. 

Like together, together. 

He doesn’t expect her to come to a decision at the bar where his brother works and he doesn’t expect that decision to come in the form of her finding him by the pool tables, grabbing him by the belt loops of his jeans, and kissing him. 

He kisses her back with fervor. It’s a mess of lips and teeth and tongue bordering on not safe for work and definitely not safe for bar and if it weren’t for Robin coughing loudly at the opposite end of the table, well, let’s just say they all would have seen too much. 

“That was…” he breathes, forehead pressed against hers. 

“A one time thing,” she responds and just before his face can fall because he can’t have _that_ be a one time thingshe adds a, “in public, I mean.”

They both turn to the crowd around them and announce a, “Don’t tell my brother,” in unison before Emma’s grabbing his hand and leading him out into the cool summer night air.

He steals a few more kisses along the way before he realizes she’s leading them to her home and before the panic can set in she reminds him that her brother and his _fiancée_ are out of town for the weekend.

More impatient than he is, she has him shirtless by the time they reach her bed. He stills when she reaches for the prosthetic, eyes looking up at her in a questioning glance. 

“If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me,” she says softly. 

He swallows, hard. It’s not that he never has taken it off around a woman, it’s just that she’s never been the one to do it for him. She’s never been the one to ask, never been the one who’s seemed unfazed from the get-go. 

“Aye, love.” He nods. “It’s okay.”

He falls in love with her all over again. He falls for her gentleness and the way she carefully places it on the nightstand before she returns to him.

It’s not long before they’re both naked, bodies pressed together, her screaming out his name before her name escapes his lips like a silent prayer for this to never end. 

He doesn’t say the words out loud, though, but he does breathe them onto her skin, hoping it’s enough. 

/ 

**step eight. keep sharing.**

She asks about his hand that night. 

He tells her about more than that. He tells her about the dark years, the years he blamed himself for life being so cruel to his brother and him. He tells her about the stupid ways he returned his brother’s kindness. He tells her about the events that led up to losing his hand, about how he promised afterwards to be a better man. 

If not for his sake, then his brother’s. 

(He keeps that promise now for a different reason all together, but he doesn’t tell her that just yet.)

She opens up of her own accord. She tells him about the foster homes she bounced around between when she was younger, about the abandonment, about how Ingrid took her in, about how she repaid her with a stupid decision of her own at seventeen, about how she found her biological brother David shortly after. She tells him about how she promised she’d be better, for herself, at least. 

He makes love to her again before the night’s over. Kisses away her tears as the words linger on the tip of his tongue. Promises to never abandon her.

He falls in love with the sated look on her face and the lazy smile that graces her features before she falls asleep with her head on his chest. 

/ 

**step nine. talk.**

Some nights they don’t fall asleep at all. Some nights they’re greeted by the morning sun, realizing they’ve spent yet another night together talking about anything and everything that’s bounced back and forth between their minds.

Talking about the past. 

Talking about the present. 

Talking about the future. 

His heart races on those nights because he can’t help but think about how it’s theirs. It’s all theirs. A past they’ll navigate through together. A present he’ll stick by her side through. A future he’ll be there for. 

/

**step ten. call her home.**

This is it. This must be the good life they all talk about. It doesn’t take much to convince him of that except for a simple stroll by the beach hand in hand one night. 

The way she stops and points up at the sky, asking him what constellation that could possibly be, solidifies it. 

“Cygnus,” he says without thinking. 

He knows for a fact it isn’t Cygnus, not where they’re currently standing and not with the season but it’s the first thing that comes to mind because he just can’t seem to stop staring at her. 

She laughs and shakes her head and then kisses him before she keeps pulling him down the length of the beach.

“Let’s go home,” she tells him. 

He nods knowing home ends up being wherever their feet take them, whosever house happens to be closest, whosever bed they fall into first. 

Home is whenever he’s with her, holding her in his arms as his chest rises and falls with her own. Home is her laughter at a stupid joke he’s made or flirtatious quip he’s thrown her way to rid them of the silence between them. Home is her lips against his, soft when they meet for lunch and a bit more demanding on nights when they have to part due to early work days. Home is her hand in his, prosthetic or real, because they’re walking or talking but she’s still there. 

Home is Emma Swan—and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

/ 

**step eleven. meet her mother.**

The days leading up to meeting her mother are some of the more frightening days. Words can’t describe Ingrid, not as well as meeting her can, and while it’s safe to say the dinner went well because nothing happened, that doesn’t mean he isn’t frightened on the inside regardless. 

He finds himself alone with her at the dining table as David, Emma _and_  Mary Margaret take to cleaning the kitchen and dishes. 

“You love her, don’t you?”

Ingrid’s words catch him off guard. He takes a moment to compose himself—and wipe away the bit of water that spilled onto his chin—before he nods. 

“Aye. I do. And I wouldn’t ever dream of hurting her.”

He can see it in her eyes, the way she scrutinizes him before her eyes seem to soften and he’s almost certain this might be her way of letting him know he has her approval. 

Emma’s out of the kitchen before he can ask, offering to give Ingrid a tour of the town at night before she decides to turn in for her room at Granny’s. He tags along, of course. 

He also takes her holding his hand around her mother as a good sign, too. 

/

**step twelve. say it.**

It happens when he least expects it. With plans thwarted by David and Mary Margaret’s early return—plans that had been thwarted just before that by Liam’s return—they settle for reading whatever they can grab until the urge passes. 

The urge does pass, but the books tire them out in the process and it’s not long before she’s suggesting a nap of all things, as if they’re children or old people and not a young couple who have had all attempts at sex brought down by the fact that they live with their siblings. 

“I love you.”

His eyes snap open, hand tightening around her midsection as he wonders if he dreamed it. 

“You’re not dreaming. I said it.”

Killian smiles, presses a kiss to her shoulder then her cheek and then settles behind her before he realizes that he hasn’t said it back and all he’s been doing is grinning behind her like the fool in love that he is. 

“I love you, too.”

“Good.”

/

**step thirteen. fight (and apologize).**

When it rains, it pours. 

They have their first argument not long after that over something trivial in the grand scheme of things. It happens, though, and as he mutters a few things here and there under his breath he tightens his brace a bit tighter than usual because anything is better than the anger eating away at him inside for being angry at her for no reason. 

He carries that anger with him to work and it’s unfortunate, really, because if he wasn’t so wrapped up in his head all day and obsessing over the fact that he snapped at her for something that now seems like nothing at all, he would have noticed his hand getting caught and the prosthetic being tugged a bit too tight and his shoulder dislocating in the process. 

Go figure. 

She meets him at the hospital, regardless, and after berating him for being so careless she forgives him for being so stupid. 

It’s silly, really, for a dislocated shoulder to bring back nightmares of what he went through with his accident, the tossing and turning and sleepless nights that followed him, but it does and for weeks she’s right there next to him, soothing him back to sleep. 

She’s his own personal savior and he thanks his lucky stars every day.

/ 

**step fourteen. move in with her.**

He hands her the book as a one year anniversary present and only nods in silence as she flips through the book and asks, “You’ve loved me this long?”

He’s loved her longer than that, he thinks, probably from the moment he saw her at that party and fell asleep to an image of those green eyes piercing into his soul. 

He’ll love her longer than either of them can imagine, too.

Her present comes in the form of four little words he never thought he’d be so happy to hear—

“Move in with me?”

—and he doesn’t hesitate to say yes. 

They find a place a week later and it’s not the stunning view of the water that sells her like it sells him but the way he walks around the place with a smile on his face and a plan for every room. 

They sign for it on the spot.

/

**step fifteen. ~~buy~~ get the ring.**

Liam shoves the ring into his hand the night of the housewarming party. He’s not that discreet, that elder Jones, but with everyone walking around enjoying the food and drinks he and Emma had provided for the night, discretion isn’t needed as much when everyone’s distracted. 

It’s their mother’s ring, one his older brother would never part with unless he deemed the reason worthy enough. Apparently Emma Swan is worthy enough and before he starts crying in the corner of his living room, he excuses himself to the kitchen. 

He should know better by now, because Emma’s hot on his trail, wondering if everything’s all right. 

“Better than all right,” he says with a smile as he places a kiss on her lips and slides the ring into his pocket. 

It burns a hole in his jeans all night and with the way she claims him once all their guests have gone and they’re home alone, it’s a miracle she hasn’t found it. 

/

**step sixteen. say yes.**

The ring goes missing a few months later. He hasn’t asked her—of course he hasn’t asked her, hence the missing ring—because the moment’s had to be perfect and so far everything’s been less than perfect. 

Their bedroom, once pristine because of his hands, becomes the landing site of a tornado by the time he’s done searching for the damned ring. An hour suddenly becomes two as he tries again to no avail. 

“Hey, Killian?”

“Yes, love?”

He shakes the sheets with a bit more vigor than before, hoping the ring falls out of the blankets. Nothing. But he has found at least three pairs of her socks. He’s all but losing his mind without that damn ring and begins to wonder just long how it’s been missing. Months? Weeks? 

He can hear Liam’s voice inside his head, berating him for losing the ring. This is what he gets for not getting down on one knee sooner. He’s been arguing with that voice inside his head for the better part of an hour now, insisting that if he hadn’t shoved that ring in his hand the night of the housewarming party the ring wouldn’t be lost now

“Would you wanna marry me?” 

“Of course, love.”

“Great!”

It’s not until he’s emptied out his sock drawer that he realizes what she’s asked, and with a very loud, “Swan!” he’s bolting out of the room in search of her. He finds her sitting at the table, mug of tea in hand as she flips through a book. 

He stills by the far end of the table as he catches the gleam of an all too familiar ring on her finger. A ring he’s torn through their bedroom like a tornado to Oz making it’s way through. 

“Would you mind repeating that? I feel as though my ears have failed me momentarily. Would I what?”

She shuts her book slowly before she turns to him and in a soft voice asks, “Marry me?”

“Yes.”

He falls in love with her lips all over again, the way they feel against his as he continues to whisper yes against them, and the laugh that escapes her when he picks her up from the chair and twirls her in his arms.

/

**step seventeen. spend the rest of your life with her.**

He’s loved her from the moment he met her.  

The minute she steps foot onto that aisle he’s transported back to that party, to that young man shaking slush off of his boots as he shrugs out of his jacket and joins his friends at a gathering he had almost talked himself out of going to only because it involved socializing with way too many people than he had patience for that night. 

“Ready?”

Here he was, years later, still feeling the same way—still feeling like he’s at that party and he’s seeing her for the first time around—always feeling the same way because he falls in love with her every day, each day more than the last. 

“Aye, love.”

He’ll love her until his last.


End file.
